


Cameras Flash So Much

by lillyluna



Category: Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillyluna/pseuds/lillyluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As a toddler Oliver walked the runway holding Ryan's hand. When he's sixteen things are different."</p>
<p>In which Ryan is a fashion designer. During fashion week he depends on his sixteen year old son Oliver to save the day. </p>
<p>Michael worries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cameras Flash So Much

  
“How the fuck am I short a model?” Ryan looks at the model Polaroids stuck up to a wall next to the Polaroids of the clothes he’s designed. There’s an empty slot on the model side, “I had all of them, I hand picked all of them, I-“  
  
“Someone is sick.” His assistant tells him, “Stomach flu, it went all around the Marc Jacobs lineup.”  
  
“What the fuck am I suppose to do? We walk in twenty.”  
  
“I can try finding-“  
  
“What? Just open the back door and hope some kid is chilling out with nothing to do?”  
  
“I can call around and-“  
  
“No, I didn’t like anyone else, we walk in twenty by the time someone shows up it’s going to be too late.”  
  
“We can pull the outfits? There aren’t really that many options here.”  
  
“I know.” Ryan sighs impatiently, “Give me like a minute to just… Fuck this I’m going to go check outside to see if there’s any stray models hanging out. Keep everything cool here.”  
  
Ryan storms through backstage, peeking into hair and makeup, the dressing area and by catering to see if anyone’s boyfriend is hanging around with nothing to do. He considers one of his interns and then discards him for being too short. As the countdown on his phone tells him, they walk in eighteen minutes.  
  
“You look like not good.” Oliver tells him.  
  
Oliver sits on the floor even though he’s already wearing the custom made pants for his walk down the runway to close the show with Ryan. He’s eating a sandwich and Ryan cringes at the thought of having to get someone to clean mustard off of a cashmere sweater.  
“Seriously dad,” Oliver stretches and his hands almost reach the shelf, he’s gotten lanky as fuck in the past few months he’s probably hit the-  
  
“Oliver.” Ryan focuses on him, “Broliver.”  
  
“What?” Oliver takes another bite of his sandwich and eyes him suspiciously, “why are you looking at me like that?”  
  
“I’m short a model.”  
  
“That sucks.” Oliver flicks his thumb across the screen of his phone, laughs at a text message and starts typing out a reply, “Can Evan fly out?”  
  
“You’re over six feet.”  
  
“Jeah I am.” Oliver says proudly, “Like six one by this point.”  
  
“Jeah? Get your ass to hair and makeup.” Ryan holds out a hand to pull him up, the grin comes back to his face because this is pretty much the perfect solution. “You’re stepping up for me.”  
  
“Ha, no.” Oliver doesn’t even look up from his phone, “You’re crazy.”  
  
“I’m in a tight spot kid.” Ryan tries hard to sound like he’s not begging.  
  
“Yeah? I’m not a model.” Oliver shakes his head and suddenly looks a lot like Michael, “I trip and shit, I’ll like take out the front row.”  
  
“I’ll pay you.”  
  
The line gets Oliver’s attention, he puts down his phone, “Pay me or pay my trust fund?”  
  
“You.” Ryan doesn’t hesitate, “Cash money in your pocket.”  
  
“What am I wearing?”  
  
“Whatever the fuck you want Ols, I’m kind of desperate.” Ryan says, “You have like ten seconds to decide.”  
  
“If you make me look stup-“ Oliver threatens but he shoves his phone back into his pocket.  
  
“I designed it, you won’t look-“  
  
“Fine, fuck.”  
  
“Language dude.”  
  
“What do I have to do?” Oliver lets Ryan pull him up and leans against the wall, “Point me where I gotta go.”  
  
*  
  
Fifteen minutes before the show begins Oliver sits in a makeup chair with at least five people and three photographers surrounding him. His nails are being filed while someone styles his hair and two makeup artists flit around his face with brushes and pencils.  
  
“Honey no,” One of the makeup artists says, “Let’s let go of the sandwich okay, don’t eat it.” He grabs it from Oliver’s hand with a disgusted face and throws it away.  
  
“Stand tall, chest out, take long strides, look ahead.” The show director’s assistant or someone with a job title that’s close to it hovers over him, “You look straight ahead up over the crowd, remember to breathe and relax. If you’re stiff it’ll show. Attitude, it’s all about attitude. You have a great smile kid but now’s not the-“  
  
“Yo don’t cut my hair,” Oliver dodges out of the way of the hairstylist’s scissors, “Fuck this shit.” he looks around panicked, “Where’s my dad?”  
  
“Who’s your dad hun?” The hairdresser tries to hush him, “Why is here… I’m not cutting a lot, you just have… What do you do to your hair?”  
  
“I swim, it’s chlorine, don’t cut it. Ryan fucking Lochte’s my dad maybe you don’t want to-“  
  
“Oliver.” Ryan’s voice is stern and Oliver can’t even see where it’s coming from, “Don’t be a brat.”  
  
“That face!” The assistant director’s coffee fetcher or whoever the hell she is calls out when Oliver glares at the direction of Ryan’s voice, “That’s your face for the runway. Look at it in the mirror and practice. Remember, long strides. Your dresser is going to come get you. We need you ready in ten. You’re opening.”  
  
“What?” Oliver jerks his head around and nearly gets stabbed in the eye with a pair of tweezers.  
  
“He’s what?” Another model cries out, “I’m opening. They told me I was-“  
  
“He’s opening.” She says again, “I mean, you’re opening Oliver. You’re the first one out so we need to hurry this up.”  
  
“If he lets me cut his hair-“ The hair stylist snaps back.  
  
“Honey stop moving, I need to line your eyes.” The makeup artist impatiently grabs Oliver’s chin and moves it back to face the mirror, “Here practice your face. Your dad’s right over there. Don’t worry.”  
  
“It’s bullshit that he’s opening.” The other model complains, “Who the fuck is he?”  
  
*  
  
There’s dozens of camera crews backstage and no one seems to care that Oliver’s pretty much naked while he waits for his dresser to figure out which way the stupid sweater goes. Oliver closes his eyes and sets his jaw ignoring the camera flashes he sees through his eyelids.  
  
“He’s sixteen.” Ryan puts his hand in front of a woman’s camera lens, “Stick to pictures of his face.”  
  
Oliver opens his eyes and sees Ryan pull the curtain of his dressing area completely closed, the camera crew protests but he ignores them.  
  
“I got this.” Ryan takes the sweater from her, “These shoes won’t fit him, I need different ones.” He tells her.  
  
“This is crazy.” Oliver informs him, “Like… I’m wearing eye liner and people keep touching my ass on purpose.” He makes a face at Ryan, “I’m being assaulted, you owe me.”  
  
“Arms up Ols.” Ryan puts his hands through the sweater and holds it above Oliver’s head.  
  
“Are you serious?” Oliver looks outraged, “I can dress myself, you taught me.”  
  
“Not with these clothes. Arms up. I don’t have time for your dramatics dude, we walk in three.”  
  
Oliver rolls his eyes but obeys and lets Ryan pull the sweater over his head and guide his arms through the sleeves.  
  
“Thank fucking god it fits.” Ryan sighs in relief and turns to a seamstress Oliver hadn’t noticed, “We’re good, I’ll let you know if the pants need to be-“  
  
“Are you saying I’m fat?” Oliver says offended, “Because I can peace the fuck out and-”  
  
“No, you’re just built different than my models… Most of the other guys,” Ryan says matter of fact, “Are over eighteen and have grown into their limbs and shit. You’re still gangly as fuck.”  
  
“Wow, thanks.” Oliver rolls his eyes, “I feel so good about this.”  
  
“Your dad’s right in front,” Ryan ignores him, “Ten chairs from the end. Don’t look for him. Don’t look at anyone. Just stare right ahead like you’re pissed off. Lemme see your walk.”  
  
“Can I put pants on first?  
  
“Oh, there are no pants, I didn’t tell you?”  
  
“Fuck this noise.” Oliver pulls at his sweater, “Lemme call dad, you’re in so much trouble. I’m out.”  
  
“It’s a joke Gator,” Ryan sighs and reaches for a hanger, “Put these on yourself, watch the zipper.”  
  
“Some guy was pissed.” Oliver says as he struggles to put the pants on, “That I was opening. Motherfuck why are these so tight?”  
  
“You’re my kid.” Ryan tells him, “If you’re going to walk for me, you’re going to open and close. Who cares what he thinks.”  
  
He lets Oliver struggle with the pants for another few seconds before stopping him.  
  
“You have to kind of pull the fabric up, it stretches. Do you want help?”  
  
“No. I can put pants on.” Oliver follows Ryan’s suggestion and manages to get the pants all the way on. “These are tight. Dad’s going to kill you.”  
  
“Yeah, we’ll worry about that later.” Ryan says hoping that maybe Michael will be so bored by the whole thing he won’t notice Oliver walking out. “Now show me your walk.”  
  
Suddenly self conscious, Oliver takes a few steps back and walks in what he hopes is a straight line right to where Ryan sits on a stool.  
  
“Dude.” Ryan groans, “Stand up straight… What is this? You don’t walk like-“  
  
“It’s your fault, you taught me.” Oliver’s shoulders drop, “Like I don’t wanna do this if I’m going to look stupid.”  
  
“Roll your shoulders back.” Ryan stands up and puts his hands on Oliver’s back, “Drop your arms. Take longer strides, all the other guys are going to run you over if you-“  
  
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” Oliver repeats, “You’re freaking me out.”  
  
“You’ll be fine, just focus.” Ryan sits back down on his stool and motions for Oliver to take a few steps backwards, “Try again.”  
  
“You sound like other dad.” Oliver rolls his eyes.  
  
He takes a few steps before someone yanks the curtain back, it’s his former dresser and she’s holding shoes.  
  
“These are the only ones we have, so they better fit and they better work. They needed him in the line up a minute ago if he’s going to open.”  
  
*  
 _Ry 4:40  
dont be mad. It was a emergency.  
  
Oliver 4:45  
Ur gonna kill dad.  
  
Ry 4:50  
srlsy an emergency, don’t freak.  
  
Oliver 4:55  
he made me do it, don’t be mad  
  
Ry 4:57  
stay in ur seat. don’t do ne thing stupid  
  
Ry 4:59  
love u _  
  
Michael knows it can’t be good. He’d lost Oliver half an hour ago. They had come to the show straight from the airport and hadn’t had time to grab lunch. Oliver had run off insisting there would be food for the models backstage.  
  
Knowing how many crews were already busy filming had kept Michael in his seat. He was happy to be there to support Ryan but couldn’t ever think of any smart answers to questions about fashion. No he couldn’t talk about how Ryan’s line had evolved or what trends he thought would stick for the next season. Once a woman with blue hair had asked him to talk about how the fabrics in the collection reflected who Ryan was as a person. Michael hadn’t gone backstage since.  
  
Oliver’s seat is still empty when the lights dim and everyone’s told to take their seats. Just as the music starts a pretty girl with long blonde hair slips into the empty seat and stares straight at the runway clasping DSLR.  
  
The music gets louder and Michael recognizes it from the playlist Ryan’s been listening to in the car for the past three months. The lights flash to the runway and the first model walks out. Michael would recognize Oliver’s slightly awkward walk anywhere and even though he’s lost the slouch and his eyes are fixed straight ahead, there’s no denying that it’s him. Michael cringes at how tight the pants are and at the number of photographers waiting for him at the end of the runway.  
  
 _Ryan 5:03  
He’s wearing clothes, u can’t be mad_  
  
*  
  
“That was awesome!” Oliver tells Ryan as he’s being guided back to his dresser, “Did you see how many people are waiting? There were so many flashes I couldn’t even see!”  
  
“Yeah that’s awesome Ols.” Ryan’s lips are tight and he’s looking everywhere around them, “Less talking more undressing, we got like thirty seconds.”  
  
“It’s so wrong you just said that to me.” Oliver laughs and lets the woman pull his shirt off as he steps out of the pants, “I couldn’t see dad.”  
  
“Oh he could see you, don’t worry.”  
  
“Nice abs.” Another model leans on his dressing rack and leers at Oliver, “You free after the show?”  
  
“No he’s not.” Ryan pulls down the shirt that’s around Oliver’s neck, “He’s going back home with his parents. Because he’s sixteen.”  
  
“Too bad.” The model pouts, “You’re hot. I’ll give you my number.” He winks at Oliver.  
  
“You won’t.” Ryan tells him, “He won’t.” He tells Oliver.  
  
“I’m Oliver.” Oliver says ignoring Ryan.  
  
“I’m Benjamin.”  
  
“He’s sixteen years old.” Ryan says again, “As in two months ago he was fifteen. As in he’s not legal.”  
  
“EVERYONE NEEDS TO LINEUP NOW.” A frantic intern with a headset yells, “We need Oliver out in thirty seconds.”  
  
“Shoes. Shoes. Shoes.” Ryan yells at Oliver, “Go! Go!” He takes him by the elbow and pushes him forward.  
  
*  
  
The show director puts a hand on Oliver’s chest holding him back. “Wait for it, get your face on-“  
  
“You should take your shirt off.” Benjamin whispers from his spot right behind him, “When you get halfway down just take your shirt off. You’ll be all over everything tomorrow.”  
  
*  
  
“What the fuck was that.” Ryan grabs Oliver by the arm as soon as he’s off the runway, “Who told you to take the sweater off?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Oliver shrugs, “I got like carried away.”  
  
“Your dad’s going to think I told you, he’s never going to, fuck Oliver!” Ryan shakes him, “This isn’t about-“  
  
“I’m sorry.” Oliver says, “ I just… the guy said and I just did it.”  
  
“The other fucking model?” Ryan groans, “Dude… Models are fucking bitches, you don’t listen to them, it’s so competitive. This is like another swimmer telling you to dive off the block before the signal, you don’t do it.”  
  
“I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” Oliver apologizes again, “Can you let go of my arm, you’re hurting me dad.”  
  
“Shit sorry Ols.” Ryan loosens his grip, his fingers leave red marks on Oliver’s skin, “I didn’t mean to do that.”  
  
“What do I wear to walk out with you?” Oliver asks, “The last outfit or the one you designed for me?”  
  
“Which one do you like best?”  
  
“If I pick the one I was wearing when I got here, can I dress myself?”  
  
“Yeah.” Ryan agrees, he slips his arm around Oliver’s shoulder, “I heard the screams when you took your shirt off.”  
  
“Yeah? It was pretty awesome.”  
  
“Pretty sure all the free press you just got me’s going to put you through college.”  
  
“Dad looked pissed as fuck.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”  
  
*  
  
Most of the crowd has moved backstage and it’s impossible to get anywhere close to Ryan. Michael sees Ryan ten feet in front of him surrounded by people. He calls his cellphone, hears it ring and sees Ryan press what must be the ignore button. The motherfucker is avoiding him.  
  
Michael gives up looking for Ryan and instead scans the crowd for Oliver. He spots him at the other end of the room already flanked by a sketchy looking photographer, two other models and an older woman who had her arm linked through his. Oliver is shirtless again and gulping down a glass of champagne.  
  
Michael moves through the crowd slowly. He sees the photographer grab another glass of champagne to hand it Oliver. He wants to yell over the crowd that the kid is only sixteen years old and that everyone near him needs to take three steps back and keep their hands to themselves.  
  
He watches Oliver accept the glass of champagne and let the photographer slip what looks like a business card in the front pocket of his pants. This kid, he thinks, needs a refresher course on strangers.  
  
*  
  
“Where have you been hiding all my life?” The older woman runs her hands down Oliver’s abs.  
  
“If you want to walk Paris.” The photographer says, “I can make that happen, I have connections. My studio is in Brooklyn, if you show up tomorrow we can just snap a few pictures. Don’t bring your parents though, they get in the way.” He grabs Oliver’s empty glass out of his hand.  
  
“Can we expect to see you walking for other designers this week?”  
  
Oliver doesn’t see who asks the question, just the microphone shoved under his face, “Um… Probably not, this was just a last minute thing. I’m not a model… I have training tomorrow, we’re going back tonight.”  
  
“Oh the shame.” The older woman says, “We need more pretty faces around here.”  
“Take my card,” The photographer hands him another glass of champagne and takes the opportunity to slip his card into Oliver’s pocket, his hand lingers and Oliver starts to feel uncomfortable.  
  
“Um yeah.” Oliver sips the champagne, he doesn’t really like the taste, “We’re leaving tonight, so probably not.”  
  
  
*  
  
“I can’t get to Oliver.” Michael pulls Ryan away from someone else mid conversation.  
  
“Dude, that was the woman from-“  
  
“I don’t give a fuck.” Michael says, “Oliver’s somewhere in here and he’s drinking. There are really sketchy people hanging all around him.”  
  
“Then find him and take him back to the hotel.” Ryan says still looking angry, “I’m working.”  
  
“No.” Michael says, “You put our kid shirtless on a fucking runway and now every creepy photographer in New York is trying to get him drunk and shoving their business cards down his pants. You’re fixing this.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Ryan rolls his eyes, “He took his own shirt off, I had nothing to do with it. Just-“ He looks away from Michael and scans the crowd, “JULIE.” He yells out and the pretty blonde girl who’d sat next to Michael appears next to him, “Find my kid, get him here and take whatever he’s drinking away.”  
  
She nods and disappears into the crowd.  
  
“My new assistant.” Ryan explains to Michael. “Ols thinks she’s hot, he’ll follow her anywhere, just wait five minutes.”  
  
*  
“There you are!” Julie grabs the glass out of his hands and puts it down on the floor, “Your dad is looking for you! Follow me.”  
  
“I will.” Oliver grins at her, “Follow you anywhere.”  
  
“Oh my god, you’re drunk.” She looks at him panicked, “How am I going to tell your dad you’re drunk.”  
  
“I always fuck up.” Oliver says and he takes the crowd as an excuse to hold onto her hand “He’ll get it.”  
  
“Try and look sober!” She begs him, “and where’s your shirt?”  
  
“Someone took it away from me.” Oliver admits, “They had a camera.”  
  
*  
  
“He made me do it.”  
  
In the car on the way back to the hotel, it takes Oliver thirty seconds to sell out Ryan.  
  
“I gave you a choice.” Ryan defends himself, “I asked you to do it.”  
  
“He bribed me with cash money.” Oliver insists leaning in from the backseat.  
  
“No, I said that if you did it I would pay you. Like I pay all the other models.”  
  
“You’re so grounded Oliver.” Michael says, “I don’t even care.”  
  
“What?!” Oliver cries outraged, “That doesn’t make any sense. I was helping dad.”  
  
“I kind of pressured him into it Mike, he wanted to drop out and I said no.” Ryan comes to Oliver’s defense.  
  
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Oliver insists.  
  
“So drinking alcohol was helping your dad how?” Michael reaches between the passenger and the driver’s seat and pushes Oliver back, “Put your seat belt on Ols, the car is moving.”  
  
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Oliver cries out again, “You’re not being fair dad! I just did what dad asked me.”  
  
“No.” Ryan turns around to make sure Oliver buckles up, “I never asked you to take your shirt off, that was your own bad idea.”  
  
“You said it was great! You said I gave you free press!”  
  
“Ry!” Michael groans and hits his hand on the steering wheel, “For real? That’s the kind of shit the parenting books def say not to do. It’s like a downward spiral from here.”  
  
“Did you have a stroke?” Ryan asks, “I made him walk a runway show, I didn’t put him in a dance cage at a gay bar. I needed help, this one time.”  
  
“From where I was sitting, it looked more like a strip club than a runway show.” Michael retorts. He feels like someone needs to be outraged that this happened and since Ryan’s clearly not going to play the part he needs to step up.  
  
“Oh my fucking god.” Ryan rolls his eyes, “I didn’t tell him to take his shirt off. One of the other models was fucking with him. I didn’t even let him get dressed with the rest of the models. I had curtains up around him. I did everything right.”  
  
“He was getting hit on by fucking guys who are older than us.”  
  
“How’s that my fault? You were at the party too!”  
  
“Stop the car.” Oliver says from the backseat, “Seriously stop the car.”  
  
“You’re not getting out Oliver.” Ryan snaps at him.  
  
“I’m going to puke. Stop the car.” Oliver insists, “I’m not fucking joking.”  
  
“From fucking underage drinking. Awesome.” Michael says sarcastically, “Just great.”  
  
“I’m going to motherfucking puke all over this car pull over.”  
  
“I have to cross three lanes of traffic Oliver. Calm down.”  
  
Michael pulls over on the shoulder of the road and Oliver has the car door open before the car comes to a full stop.  
  
“You okay there Ols?” Ryan undoes his seat belt and glances back over at Oliver concerned.  
  
Between heaves, Oliver lets out impressive strings of swear words directed at no one in particular.  
  
“They wouldn’t let me eat my sandwich.” He complains and heaves again, he sits back up afterwards and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyeliner runs down his face. “The photographer asshole kept touching my ass… I’m pretty sure he tried to grab me. If you think I had fun you’re fucking-“  
  
“Let’s just go back to the hotel.” Michael says calmly. “Let’s just get some diner.”  
  
“Sober the kid up.” Ryan adds.  
  
“And then just find out who this photographer is and go punch him out.”  
  
“I have his business card.” Oliver is laying back on the backseat, “It’s in Brooklyn.”  
  
“Sit up Ols.” Michael flicks the four ways off and merges back into traffic, “seatbelt.”  
  
“I was just trying to help dad.” Oliver tries again, “I didn’t want to fuck up, I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t say sorry Gator,” Ryan says, he reaches back and pats Oliver’s knee, “You didn’t fuck up.”  
  
“Unground me then.” Oliver demands, “I did nothing wrong.”  
  
“I think missing out on the after party tonight is punishment enough.” Michael says.  
  
“No, I don’t wanna miss it.” Oliver wines, “I wanna go. My suit is awesome.”  
  
“Dude.” Ryan laughs, “The way you are, there’s no way you’re making it out tonight. How much champagne did you drink?”  
  
“I still wanna go, I’ll be fine.” Oliver can’t keep his eyes open though, “Motherfuck you’re not fair.”  
  
“Language.” Michael shoots out, “You’ve gotten into enough trouble for today dude. You’re staying at the hotel.”  
  
“Alone? What if I sneak out? Julie should babysit me.”  
  



End file.
